GypsyHawke: The Tale of a Curse
by The Imaginative Light
Summary: A new friend comes to him when he is in need of comfort... When a bond is formed, a door opens. A danger looms and love is kindled. A tale of evil and a tale of love. Come. Sit. And I shall tell you.
1. The Tale of a Curse

_There once was a time when things were simply not as they seemed. When days seemed beautiful and bright, when one would take a single glance and say "Hark! What a wonderful city Paris is!" when nothing was as such. A gargoyle's snarl was actually a grin, or bell's tong spoke of death when it truly meant a greeting. Or when you would gaze upon someone's face and recoil just because he was different from the rest. This was never a world for judging. Yet, life itself was cruel chore._

_ There would be days of darkness when one would say, "Lo…it is spring" just by looking at that one sun ray fighting through the gray blanket. Appearances…a certain look in that someone's eye, you can hardly tell of what is truly within unless you take the time to see it. Be it intention, or doing or something truly frightening. I met this one fellow. He wasn't what I thought he was either, until I made him look at me, straight. He just glowered, in his natural, hunched over way. I thought he was to yell, but all he ever said to me was "Why?" _

_It wasn't crude, the way he asked it. Neither was it angry or confused. But sincere._

_The Imperial Palace, was where I met him and I knew where he came from, who he was. But he didn't seem to care that he was to be punished the morning following. It struck me by surprise. I then asked him of his reason to be there and he merely answered, only a moment later…"She flew away."_

_He wasn't mad, but as I saw him huddled in that corner, I could tell he was speaking out of innocent honesty. I believed his word…._

_Listen well to me now…. You must. You may think this a lie, but I was there. I had met this man. And he was the one who ended the 'curse'!_

_ …_

_What curse, ya ask? How droll. Why haven't you heard of she who flew under the eye of the sun and he who lurked beneath the eye of the moon? That man I had met…knew of it before anyone else. Him and one other. Just one other. The wolf in sheep's clothing…. Come close... I shall tell you. Don't be meek.  
_

_"I shall tell you of the true tale... Of GypsyHawke..."_

* * *

**I have been swamped with terrific ideas and I had to choose what to start on. This is a whole new fanfiction, far different than what I'm writing now. A fantasy in a non magical fandom. Seems far fetched, it is far fetched, but this idea just wouldn't let me alone. It is based off an old fantasy film, utterly old and corny called LadyHawke. I recommend it. It's an old fave of mine. I got to thinking of that plot combined with...Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame and add all kinds of new ideas into it. So I wrote this intro, getting all excited! A major chapter is on it's way as I still work on Heaven's Light.**

**I'm very excited! I hope you all will like this and I accept any kind of constructive criticism.**


	2. Lend Your Voices

_**The very first chapter! I am so sorry for those who wanted it sooner, but here it is finally. I hope you all enjoy this.**_

* * *

When the night was young still and the lonesome city had begun to doze after the uneasy mess of excitement several hours before, there was a single disturbance…besides the desperate howls of sad prisoners held within the Palace of Justice. Near along the sides of a few residences, there was a pen. A lonesome one, with only one inhabitant. An inhabitant that was keen to find freedom. His thick, short horns scraped along the cobblestone and his cloven hooves struck hard, trying to dig out. Against the low plank, his horns could not go beneath. His head was too big, but he was not to give up so soon. A captive goat…awaiting his turn to meet with the cleaver had made his bold decision. With much force he tried to squirm his thick head underneath the plank of the loose pen. A mug was thrown out of the nearest window as an argument ensued. A maiden had just made her employer quite angry. As shards nearly land on his back, the goat worms under the pen and scrapes the road to pull himself. As soon as he saw that he was free, he ran as fast as he could to be away from those awful, mean noises.

The poor creature had not known just how mighty this place was. He could not recognize where he was. He had to rely on his smell, which was a chore within itself.

_This beast's story was a complicated one. He wasn't always a captive held for some nobleman's evening meal. He had brains, he knew trickery, one to another. Yet, he would think that things would not get any worse if the clouds had not rallied together. _

Thunder cracked in the skies, forcing the poor goat to flinch and hide beneath the shelter of a porch. Rain began to pour, enforcing a few beggars to take shelter nearby the buildings and beneath bridges. The skies rolled with thunder as a few lone, low clouds hover beside the silent church of the city.

_She stood tall, like the queen of her realm. A Lady of fairness and majesty did what she could for her people of this saddened town. The rain drenched her columns, her doors ran cracked as the choir put forth their silence for the night. But she was not alone tonight. She had a friend with her. Since when was Notre Dame herself feeling so lonesome? Never. Right now, he was resting. High within the damp towers where instruments of bronze hung silent. Their names known to him and with each, good thoughts were kept for them.  
_

_A prisoner, he truly was in this safe place and it seemed that her own walls were his prison. But how could that be? He loved her and she loved him by providing him refuge and joy for each and every day. He was no prisoner to her. He only needed courage…someone to help him understand that. A cruel man was keeping her young friend captive. A savage who thought he was of righteousness and peppered the city with his hypocrisy. One day…her friend, her bell ringer will be free._

It was a night most foul, when he had to wake for his music was to be brought to the quiet world below him. The cold chose to make him suffer tonight and all he had was the old tunic of green upon his arched back. The thin wools he had kept were not of much help and he could not stay lying down for long. Keeping himself moving to keep warm, the hunchback who dwelled in these towers grabbed hold of a long beam and lifted himself up. Dust was in the air as he climbed upward further to these massive bronze treasures that loomed above in this dark abyss.

_Stone demon, screaming…. _

_Bring an angel to lead me on…  
_

_The stars shine, thy hearts shame_

_Thy judgement makes the world grow cold…_

His prayers were mainly in vain. Sleep didn't come easy on nights like this, and nights were this unkind for the passed week. So he thought it was a week. His losing track of time didn't seem to meddle with his duties as bell ringer. His eyes were drooping and it was not dawn yet. His hatred for breaking into work during this time of night was growing heavy even though he had remained loyal to it for all his twenty years. But there was something that did bring joy to him. These instruments of strength that hung silent around him were his dear friends. More so, they were family to him.

"Oh Sophia…" he spoke, his voice shaken from the chill of late. "…my lady, you are cold." He said in deep concern as he took a rag and brushed the dust off her clapper.

The small bell hummed a little in turn as if speaking and he justly smiled.

"Don't you f-fear now. It won't last." he whispered in a more wistful way.

Soon the pitch darkness began to brighten and his eyes caught the small golden line of sunlight highlighting the far hills. Dawn was well on her way, so had better do what he climbed up for.

"Are you ready? Lend your voices." he said, as a hopeful smile happened upon his deformed face.

The hunchback who grew so weary over his years took a hold onto a thick rope and swung onto another beam where he could observe the coming sunrise. His heart would sing, and it would literally sing when he would pull down upon these ropes and he did so with one swift motion. His strong hands held on tight and pulled down, bending his ruined back to bring out the voices that woke his beloved town day after day.

It was like sounds of thunder, booming evermore through his abode, loud and prideful. It seemed that all his worries had slipped away. Nothing else matter except for the song that sailed across in the chilled morning air.

_Across the Seine, is seen the horizon_

_The pale moon gone, a new hope begun….  
_

It all seemed forever and the sun seemed to appear in his eyes as he gazed upon it as it began to rise.

The poor city city was, indeed, reluctant but at the enchanting song, the people began to wake. As the bells brought joy, there was set of issues being dealt with on the other side of the waking city of Paris.

_Sing along with those bells, let them chime…  
_

_Ring out those bells, ring out the joy of the day…_

_Ring out the woes…  
_

_Seven ladies move in seventh time_

_Ring out those bells…  
_

_Ring out the joy of the day…_


	3. Mercy

Under the watch of _her_ regal shadow was the darkest stronghold of this tired, silent city of old…. _The Palace of Justice_ with _his_ pride and deathly foreboding as his towers forked the dim sky with power. _She_ beat _him_ with her tremendous height but the poor town feared _him_ more than _she_, who provided love and protection to all as _he_ all but brought despair.

There was a cry enforced to ring out after the clash of _a cat o' nine tails_…. It was a scream of genuine pain from punishment of merely running away from the guard. A figure, who seemed to enjoy to hear such woe, stepped regally down from the corridor, his sharp souless eyes latching onto the whipping. A poor fruit seller who was passed his due for a tax had to pay for willfullness against the law. The Minister of Justice of Paris, he was never so soft. He was never so kind as to show mercy so easily to those he deemed to deserve such punishment in efforts to make them _respect_ the law.

"Have you come to understanding as to why you are strapped in those chains?" purred a crude tone from the corridor as soon as the whipping was done.

The poor prisoner had pulled his tired, bloodshot eyes to the Minister and only glared hate, but his spirit had been broken.

"Yes…. Yes! I have, I have!" he had begun to weep, heavily thus making his lungs burn. "Please! Have mercy!"

The tall figure as dark and forboding as the Palace stepped forth, quite calmly. He stood tall and refined, his robes silken and as black as raven's wing. A cap sat upon his head, striped and wide brimmed, with a long fiery tassle tailing down with ease. Elegant, yet heartless, this man bore his cold eyes upon his prisoner.

"Mercy? _Hmm_, I have no intention of that. You have not earned it." came his thick, deep voice as he lamely passed by, observing a rack of various whips. "I shall only postpone your flagellation sentence if you should not attempt to evade my forces again."

"I will, your Honor, I will!" the poor fruit seller cried, tightly as the whipmaster took a step back to begin again.

"Halt!" the Minister bellowed, smirking awhile he made his way back to the corridor. "Do only… 20 lashes. Make them dull. Then send him back to his cell." he ordered.

"Yes, sir!" bowed the whipmaster before he was to return to his duty.

"NO! NO PLEASE!" wept the prisoner as the Minister walked away. "I BEG YOU! PLEASE!"

He paid no heed to the man and smirked as he heard another snap of the whip. This man, who was named Dom Claude Frollo; the very fear and eyes of Paris, France and hired of the King. Carrying out punishments seemed like an easy task for him. He had power and he loved it. It was his intention to keep Paris firm under his hand and criminals were to pay for their sins. It was mere justice he was serving.

He was chosen to show this city the wrath of God was always at hand.

Yet, when his thoughts came upon his ward; the miserable waste of flesh who lingered within the brilliant towers of Notre Dame, who also had the tendency to whisk away got him to worrying if that sod would to bump into sorts unlikely…that frightened him quite a bit, but not of the ward. Even though that boy had run away once. Punishment came to the hunchback's way…. He may had been as timid as a skittish mouse, but the boy was willful under certain circumstances. Now that he saw to it, his ward has just reached his 20th year. A man officially, _if he was a man at all_. The boy, Quasimodo had always had a strong spirit. He just hid it all behind his master's back.

* * *

_The church choir had gone so quiet, leaving the sanctuary to have this eerie mood. The day was dark and so were the spirits of the People, even his own. Each hour were as lame as the last. No brightness, no enjoyment, since it was all he would do. So when the strangest came, it was as though a new door had opened._

It was when he had cleaned the vesper voices, which all had hung at the highest platform of the bell tower, directly above his lonely loft. They held the softest and sweetest of voices. Especially these ones he so passionately named, Little Sophia, the just. Her voice ever so gentle. Louise Marie, the adventurous one who would dance wildly to each song. Jeane Marie, the patient and so full of spirit and she would only sing in third time.

Life among them was far more bearable unlike most would think. When things had begun to change, as the lone bell ringer would work, he would have to stop every now and then when he heard the shuffling of large wings up in the shafts of the tower. There was the usual pidgeon nesting, but that flapping sounded strong and desperate. Putting down his work, the hunchback gazed upward trying to find the source, but it kept hiding from his eye.

_Her talons tried to grip onto the beam as her wing shot with great pain. A golden brown hawk had flown her way into the tower in order to rest and seemed to be trapped here for more than a day. An arrow had clipped her wing and had left her in too much pain to fly back to her falconer. She was quite great in size for her kind…. Her beak long and curled at the tip, her feathers a dark mahogany with primaries so slender and seemed as sharp as poniards. Her breast was ruffled, from there and all about her head as she rested her eyes. Those eyes were like jewels of jade and mixed of mahogany alike her feathers. This creature had observed this tower's only occupant since her unlikely arrival here. She felt safe with him, yet she felt most at home up high and out of reach. The creature she observed was passive. It did not give her any unnerving. No threat or negativity at all. It was only the wind's kiss that made her uncomfortable. _

The bell ringer gave a sigh, finishing his art piece…. He stopped for a moment and merely observed it. The pattern he placed into it resembled that of water, of what he imagined of the Seine river he was so able to observe from a height such as this. How it glimmered like gold in the morning inspired him. But it all but constantly reminded him that he was never going to taste a morning outside that portal. Quasimodo looked to the horizon and stood up just before he heard that flapping again. Only it sound closer.

_Her wits were not about her when she tried to fly to a warmer area, away from the gusts that flew in here. She tried to fly to another beam, but pain caused her to fall short and she had landed onto one of the planks. _

The sound made Quasimodo startle, which intrigued to go see what fell. Gradually, he climbed up, one beam after another to where he had heard the falling. As he got higher, he began to hear the scratching of claws on the wood as if this creature was trying to run away but was failing. His face graced with concern, he soon got to the source. His discovery made him gape in wonder. There was sure a creature in the corner of this beam and this was a bird and a very regal, mighty one….

_She saw the creature she observed before and she shrunk before it. She kept her eyes on it as it grew mightier and mightier. She had to flare her wings apart to seem greater. She had to try…she could not fly._

This bird was beautiful… He had never seen such a pattern and such size…. Those eyes. They were jewels. But this shrill weeping, quiet, made him shake from his curiosity. It was hurt….

With his face shifting to concern, he climbed to get his footing settled. This creature was hurt, considering the sort of sound it was making. It was in pain and it was frightened.

_"Do not come near me. I am not weak! I am not your meal! You will not touch me!_

The creature's beak seemed to open and those beautiful wings had spread open and its back lurched upward, taking on this threatening shape. It was for sure frightened. He kept his distance from it. He did not want to anger it further.

"It is afraid. The creature is afraid…" Quasimodo softly said to himself, more so towards the hurt bird. "…I will not hurt you."

It threatened to strike his hand and pulled back. But he reached to it again and yes, it was angry. That poniard sharp beak had stayed open, but did not strike. He was able to touch the bird softly along its neck, being able to stroke those soft feathers. Quasimodo softly studied it, wondering and admiring this bird. Those eyes and such dark feathers. _So beautiful_… He knew of falconry. It must have been lost.

With patience, he was able to stroke the bird, trying to think of what he could do to tend to that wing. Once, when he was younger, he had rescued an ailed dove, which had trapped itself in the great nave of Notre Dame. But he had tended to a wing. This one's wing was unable to lift off the wood. It looked quite angry.

_"Away! I wish you away!"_

It tried to snap at him again when he moved his hand away. Quasimodo studied it for a moment, just before he began to work his way back down to grab some clean wool.

* * *

There was the Parisian settlement, able to be seen by a lone rider upon his great bright horse. A man, tall, and sadly cloaked, gazed upon the city with deep worry. He had no choice but to go and search for his lost comrade. He had seen her fly this way when he was once again attacked by the Magistrates sent by the King. This city was full of melancholy and hate for him. But he had to go in search for her. Time was short on his head. It was nearly twilight. He would have to venture forth at dawn.


End file.
